You Can't Break My Heart If It's Already Made of Stone
Chapter 3
It was amazing how life could go from fantastic to tragic so quickly. I guess it was sort of like Romeo and Juliet, except I didn’t really die, and David wasn’t all that sweet. I may not have been dead, but it sure felt like it inside.
I fell asleep with a wet face and Brandi by my side. The next morning I woke up feeling refreshed and totally normal, until last night’s memories flooded back. I was alone. My dad didn’t love me, my mom really didn’t care, and I had no friends. So why was I living? Oh yeah. Because it was just a little bit better then the alternative.
Sunday morning, I didn’t even try to be cheery for my parents. My dad threw out a death glare, I threw one back. We sat at breakfast silently, my mom’s eyes on her plate, my fathers and mine glued to each others, daring each other to crack first.
My harsh break-up had left my heart broken, but around that rip was a hard iron shell, and no one was going to come through any time soon.
As time went on, I felt myself growing more and more unattached from the rest of the world. When I walked through the hallways, people looked right through me. When I sat in classrooms, the teachers didn’t call on me, didn’t acknowledge me. Not that I gave them any reason to. I didn’t speak. I kept up my end of the deal, they kept up theirs.
My fourteenth birthday didn’t change anything besides my age. My mom gave me a ‘happy birthday’ that morning, and like, usual, my dad said nothing. Brandi gave me a few extra licks, and I was off to school.
No one knew it was my birthday at school, so it was a normal day. After lunch, I ducked in to the bathroom to wash my hands, but choked back tears as I ran out. David was in the bathroom, making out with Mandy, the biggest slut in school. I told myself that I was over him, but it still hurt.
I ran in to the next closest bathroom, locked myself in a stall, and cried until I was out of breath and gasping for air. I tried to be tough, to put on a brave face, but it wasn’t easy.
By the time the day was over, another band had formed around my aching heart, and the numb feeling came back. This time I didn’t push it away or try to get rid of it. I just let it settle in to me, and it hung around me like a heavy fog.
I walked in to my house at 3:30 as usual and started up the stairs when a soft voice came from the couch. “Sarah? Could you come here?”
I rolled my eyes but went to my mother. A sharp thud hit my iron heart when I saw my mother. She looked so weak and frail. I really hadn’t been paying attention to her progress. She obviously wasn’t doing so well.
As I neared her, she pressed a folded piece of paper in to my hand. “Only if you want to,” she whispered to me. I nodded and jogged up the stairs.
Once my door was securely locked and Brandi was next to me, I unfolded the paper. It said,
Happy Helpers Psychiatric Agency
If you want to talk, come to us. We will listen.
482 Berkeley Avenue
209-487-8255
So that was it. My mom thought I was crazy. I didn’t want to go to some old lady who would ask me personal questions, write it down in her little notebook, and then make me play the feeling game.
I threw the paper in to my trash can and pulled out my poem book. Brandi settled on my stomach and I poured my feelings in to a rhyming paragraph and instantly felt better.
I went to sleep that night feeling full. I was bursting with feelings and emotions. I wanted to let it out, to scream until there was nothing left. But I couldn’t. Who would I let it out to? The walls?
I fell asleep feeling like a little person was inside me, knocking on the inside of my skin, screaming to get out and tell the world his deepest emotions.
I fell asleep with a wet face and Brandi by my side. The next morning I woke up feeling refreshed and totally normal, until last night’s memories flooded back. I was alone. My dad didn’t love me, my mom really didn’t care, and I had no friends. So why was I living? Oh yeah. Because it was just a little bit better then the alternative.
Sunday morning, I didn’t even try to be cheery for my parents. My dad threw out a death glare, I threw one back. We sat at breakfast silently, my mom’s eyes on her plate, my fathers and mine glued to each others, daring each other to crack first.
My harsh break-up had left my heart broken, but around that rip was a hard iron shell, and no one was going to come through any time soon.
As time went on, I felt myself growing more and more unattached from the rest of the world. When I walked through the hallways, people looked right through me. When I sat in classrooms, the teachers didn’t call on me, didn’t acknowledge me. Not that I gave them any reason to. I didn’t speak. I kept up my end of the deal, they kept up theirs.
My fourteenth birthday didn’t change anything besides my age. My mom gave me a ‘happy birthday’ that morning, and like, usual, my dad said nothing. Brandi gave me a few extra licks, and I was off to school.
No one knew it was my birthday at school, so it was a normal day. After lunch, I ducked in to the bathroom to wash my hands, but choked back tears as I ran out. David was in the bathroom, making out with Mandy, the biggest slut in school. I told myself that I was over him, but it still hurt.
I ran in to the next closest bathroom, locked myself in a stall, and cried until I was out of breath and gasping for air. I tried to be tough, to put on a brave face, but it wasn’t easy.
By the time the day was over, another band had formed around my aching heart, and the numb feeling came back. This time I didn’t push it away or try to get rid of it. I just let it settle in to me, and it hung around me like a heavy fog.
I walked in to my house at 3:30 as usual and started up the stairs when a soft voice came from the couch. “Sarah? Could you come here?”
I rolled my eyes but went to my mother. A sharp thud hit my iron heart when I saw my mother. She looked so weak and frail. I really hadn’t been paying attention to her progress. She obviously wasn’t doing so well.
As I neared her, she pressed a folded piece of paper in to my hand. “Only if you want to,” she whispered to me. I nodded and jogged up the stairs.
Once my door was securely locked and Brandi was next to me, I unfolded the paper. It said,
Happy Helpers Psychiatric Agency
If you want to talk, come to us. We will listen.
482 Berkeley Avenue
209-487-8255
So that was it. My mom thought I was crazy. I didn’t want to go to some old lady who would ask me personal questions, write it down in her little notebook, and then make me play the feeling game.
I threw the paper in to my trash can and pulled out my poem book. Brandi settled on my stomach and I poured my feelings in to a rhyming paragraph and instantly felt better.
I went to sleep that night feeling full. I was bursting with feelings and emotions. I wanted to let it out, to scream until there was nothing left. But I couldn’t. Who would I let it out to? The walls?
I fell asleep feeling like a little person was inside me, knocking on the inside of my skin, screaming to get out and tell the world his deepest emotions.